"But what does he mean?" said Mme Delisle. "Is he going to give up his enmity to marriage, and propose for you!"
"I don't know, mamma," exclaimed the daughter, coloring very much; "but he may spare himself the trouble."
"Geraldine—Geraldine! you will always then make me unhappy!" said her mother, shaking her head.
"But you can not want me to marry Alfred? You told me every thing against him yourself."
"But if he is going to marry and be steady, I owe him an apology. But go and dress; you want to hear the overture."
They went to Alfred's box—father, mother, and daughter. But though in the house, he scarcely came near them. He came in to inquire after their health, claimed Geraldine's hand for the opening quadrille at the soirée to which they were going after the opera, and went away. The young girl rather haughtily accepted his offer, and then turned round to attend to the music and singing.
Next day, to the astonishment of both M. and Mme Delisle, Alfred de Rougement proposed for the hand of their daughter, expressing the warmest admiration for her, and declaring with earnestness that the happiness of his whole life depended on her decision. Geraldine was referred to. She at once refused him, giving no reason, but expressing regret that she could not share his sentiments. The young man cast one look of reproach at her, rose, and went away without a word. When he was gone she explained to her parents, that though in time she thought she should have liked him, she did not admire his mode of paying his addresses; she thought he ought to have spoken to her first. Mme Delisle replied, that she now very much admired him, and liked his straightforward manner; but Geraldine stopped the conversation by reminding her that he was rejected, and that all discussion was now useless.
That evening Geraldine danced several times with her cousin Edouard Delisle, a young man who for a whole year had paid his addresses to her. They were at a house in the Faubourg St. Germain, where the ball-room opened into a splendid conservatory. Geraldine was dressed in white, with one beautiful rose in her hair, its only ornament. Edouard had been dancing with her, and now sat down by her side. They had never been so completely alone. They occupied a corner near the end, with a dense mass of trees behind them and a tapestry door. Edouard once again spoke of his love and passion, vowed that if she would not consent to be his he should never be happy; all this in a tone which showed how fully he expected to be again refused.
"If you can get mamma's consent, Edouard," she replied quickly, "I am not unwilling to be your wife."
Edouard rose from his seat and stood before her the picture of astonishment. Geraldine rose at the same time.